1117
by Evandar
Summary: AU, yaoi. Backpacking through Cloud, Itachi runs out of luck and money and ends up working for accommodation in a hostel, only to find himself surrounded by crazy people and flagging hygiene standards. KakuHidan, KisaIta, SasoDei
1. Sign Up

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Naruto_ and am making no money from this.

**AN:** This is, horrifyingly, partially based off real life. I'll let you use your imagination to figure out which bits are which. It's also pretty much plotless.

* * *

><p><span>1117<span>

by Evandar

Part I - Sign Up

"Do you know if you need someone to work for accommodation?"

Itachi shifts awkwardly under the receptionist's gaze. The man looks horribly bored. Bored to a level previously undiscovered by man. His mismatched eyes are half closed, as if he's fighting off sleep. A book with a lewd, bright orange cover rests next to his mouse mat.

He hums noncommittally and runs his fingers through his spiky silver hair. "Not my area," he says. "But the housekeepers would know." His gaze drifts back from Itachi to his computer. He clicks on something. "They've all gone home, though. I can give you a room for the night and then you can talk to them in the morning."

"Okay," Itachi says. He swallows. "Whatever's cheapest."

It's forty dollars, including the key deposit. He's breaking into his last two hundred dollars. The thought makes him want to curl up in a ball and weep, but he hands the money over without so much as a wince. Uchiha stoicism is good for something, it seems.

The receptionist slides a key over the desk. "Check out's at ten. Get up early if you want to talk to the housekeepers."

Itachi shoulders his backpack once more and heads to the lifts.

The room he's been given is a four bed dorm roughly the size of a box. There's no window, and there's a man lying in one of the bottom bunks snoring loudly. It smells faintly of BO and beer and Itachi's nose wrinkles. He drops his stuff in a corner and climbs up into one of the unclaimed top bunks. It's no worse than most of the places he's stayed in on his travels, and sleep is easy to find. Just before he drops off, he pulls his phone from his pocket and sets his alarm for early the next morning.

…

When it comes, the next morning is a whirlwind of activity. He arrives in housekeeping to find people stacking bundles of crisp sheets and pillowcases in cages and arranging vacuums and cleaning sprays on trolleys. He dodges past a tall boy with blue skin and taps on the office door.

"What?" The head housekeeper is a fierce looking woman with faint lines around her eyes and a decidedly unpleasant expression.

"I want to sign up?" Itachi replies. It comes out as more of a question than anything else. Itachi's not sure if this is such a good idea after all, but he doesn't have much of a choice. He won't be able to afford food if he doesn't start making money soon, and saving money on accommodation is the best plan he's got so far.

The woman's expression changes in an instant. "No problem, doll," she says. "Come in. You staying here?"

"Yes, but I have to check out today."

"Okay, okay, I'll sign you up and then you can grab your bag and take it down to the dorm." She's filling in a form she's pulled from _somewhere_. Itachi tilts his head to look over her shoulder. It's his contract. "Then if you ask reception for a pass key to the tenth floor we'll get you started today, alright doll?"

"Uh." She said it all very quickly and Itachi feels somewhat at a loss. She takes his non-answer as an affirmative and hands him the contract.

"We'll need a copy of your passport and your work visa, but we can sort that out after your shift." She's still talking, and Itachi tries to listen and read the contract at the same time. He's got the feeling that this 'meeting' is about to end. "So if you sign at the end, we'll be done."

A pen is shoved into his hand. He turns to the last page and signs. "Can I take a copy to read over?" he asks.

"You won't need it, doll. Come on, let's take you to reception."

The receptionist is different from the one last night, but equally bored-looking. She – Itachi presumes she's female, though it looks like she's going for the androgynous look – has cropped black hair with long bangs falling over one side of her face and slanted pale blue eyes. There's a queue of backpackers in front of her, their backpacks and their pillowcases in hand, and they chatter in a variety of dialects. **1** But the housekeeper leads them right to the front.

"We need a key for eleven-seventeen," she says. "This one's joining up. We'll sort his bond out later, right?"

"Sure," the receptionist says. She doesn't even look in Itachi's direction as she gives him a new key. "See you later."

The housekeeper slaps Itachi on the shoulder, making him jerk forward under the sudden contact. The woman hits hard. "Go take your stuff down to the room, and then head to level ten, okay? Utakata will give you a key for the lift when you're ready. You'll be working until one."

He presumes Utakata is the receptionist. He nods. "Okay."

"Good to have you, doll." The housekeeper turns, then, and walks off, leaving Itachi staring after her. He feels like he's just been dropped into an alternate reality.

"I'd hurry up if I were you," Utakata says from behind him. He looks at her. She's in the process of tossing a pillowcase over her shoulder and into a laundry bin. She fixes him a look. "They don't like it when you're late."

"But I just signed up."

"You think that matters?" She pulls twenty dollars out of the cash drawer. "There's your key deposit back," she says to the backpacker she's serving. "Have a good one." She looks back at Itachi. "Seriously, what are you waiting for?"

He leaves.

…

Room eleven-seventeen is dark. The shadows of four bunk beds loom at him out of the darkness. Itachi reaches for the light switch, but hesitates. The bottom bunk opposite the door, mostly hidden by a curtain made out of a sheet, has an arm sticking out of it. Someone's in, and they're asleep. Itachi hates waking people up, but he has no idea which beds are free. He flicks the switch.

The lights flicker then come on fully. There's a groan from the bed and the arm retracts. The sheet twitches, then draws aside, and a bloodshot pink eye glares out at him.

"Uh," Itachi says. He hadn't known people could have pink eyes. "Which beds are free?"

There's another groan. The eye disappears. Then the arm re-emerges and points. The bed above itself and the top bunk in the corner furthest from the door.

"Thanks," Itachi says.

"S'fine," comes the muffled reply. "Now turn the fucking light off."

Itachi obeys and heads for the bed in the corner. He tosses his pack up onto it and turns to go.

There's a sinking feeling in his stomach telling him that he may have made a bad decision at some point this morning.

…

He relates his story to the blue-skinned guy he ends up working with on the tenth floor. They're paired up so Itachi can learn how to do hospital corners. He catches on in about five seconds. It's not rocket science.

His story's not much of one either, but Kisame sniggers appreciatively. "Me too," he says, when Itachi tells him about the contract. "I don't know if any of us have read it."

It's mildly reassuring. At least Itachi isn't alone in not knowing what he's signed up for."I think I woke someone up," he says as he tucks in the second sheet.

"Pale guy?" Kisame asks.

Itachi shrugs. The arm had been pale. Very pale, come to think of it; he'd been able to see the blue lines of the other boy's veins. "He had pink eyes," he says.

"That's Hidan," Kisame says. "He's been here forever. He does the night shift."

"There's a night shift?" He can't remember if it was mentioned at all.

"There's four different shifts," Kisame explains. He picks the duvet up off the chair he'd tossed it on while stripping the bed and throws it on to the newly made one. "Pull that end down and tuck it under. Yeah, like that. There's the six to ten shift – Sasori does that, then there's this one: nine to one. There's an afternoon shift as well – Pein and Konan, they're a couple, are on that one. I think it's half one to half five?" He shrugs. "Then there's the nights. That's Hidan and Kakuzu's job."

"Oh," Itachi says.

"Most people get shoved onto this one because of the amount of beds we have to make."

"Right." There's something bothering him. "Do we ever change the duvets?"

"Not unless someone complains, or if someone's wet the bed, shat themselves, thrown up, or died."

Itachi looks up at him, wide-eyed. "That happens?"

"Not so much with the death," Kisame says. "But everything else…" He shrugs. "The others have some stories. I've only been here for a week. Found a bottle of piss in the fridge on my first day, though."

A shudder of revulsion makes its way down Itachi's spine. "_Why?_" he asks. "I mean, why would anyone -?"

They move onto the next bed – a top bunk. "Who knows?" Kisame replies. "It's probably better not to ask. I mean, it's a bottle of piss in the fridge. Would you really want to know the answer?"

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>This is my personal bugbear about the Naruto-verse. All these different countries with different histories, geographies, and (probably) customs all seem to have the same language and culture in the manga/anime. That…wouldn't happen. Not in real life. So, in accordance with my headcannon, dialect and customs will vary between characters from the different countries.


	2. Contest

1117

by Evandar

Part II: Contest

Itachi's dripping with sweat and feeling disgusting when they return to the dorm. The sheet curtain covering the bed opposite the door has been lifted, revealing a very pale boy dressed in black pants and a black tank top. His hair is white and his eyes – when he looks up at them – are very definitely pink. He's albino, Itachi realises, and feels like an idiot.

"Hey," he says. "How was your first day?"

Itachi's not sure how to answer. It's a job that will save him a lot of money – he doesn't want to spit on it – but he can't quite find the words to describe it positively. There's something awful about that. "It's an okay workout," he says lamely.

The boy – Hidan, Itachi remembers – snickers. "Shit, isn't it." He turns a page of his book. "You'll get used to it."

Some integral part of Itachi's being is horrified by the very thought. Behind him, Kisame chuckles. "Wasn't so bad," he says, moving around Itachi's frozen form. He heads to the bed under the one Itachi claimed. "Just a load of beds. Nothing gross or anything."

"Lucky, un," says another voice. Itachi finally moves away from the door and an androgynous boy with long golden-blond hair swans in. "There was vomit in seven-thirteen. Like, full on kebab spew right in the middle of the floor, un. Hey, you're new?"

"Yeah," Itachi says. "I'm Itachi."

"Deidara, un."

"Hi."

"Just one pool of puke?" a voice asks. The bed behind the door is occupied by a red-haired boy with dusky skin – like he was once tanned but it's faded. "My heart bleeds."

Hidan grins. He turns to Itachi again, lowering his book to his chest. "This happens every day. There's this big conversation about who had the worst shift. Sasori usually wins." He jerks his head in the direction of the red-head. "Sorry about this morning."

Itachi shakes his head. "Sorry I woke you up. Kisame said you do nights?"

"Seven til half-three in the morning," Hidan confirms. "Usually. But I only do Fridays and Saturdays 'cause it's eight fucking hours of this bollocks."

"Used, bloody condom in the sink of the disabled bathroom," Sasori says, "and the turd of the day in the mens' showers. The tenth floor is the gift that keeps on giving."

There's a round of laughter, but Itachi doesn't join in. He can't actually believe that they're all taking this so calmly. Sasori looks faintly ill from the memory, but otherwise unbothered.

"Oh," he continues, "and someone threw up in the sinks in the girls' bathroom in the bar. And on the floor. And the walls. Everywhere, in fact, except the damn toilet."

"Shit," Hidan shakes his head. "I don't know how you put up with that, seriously."

Sasori shrugs. "I have to. Can't afford a room. How was yours?"

"Didn't get in until quarter to five," Hidan says. "Some bitches started whining about bed bugs at three in the fucking morning so we had to go change the sheets." He sneers and waves a hand. "Like that would fucking make a difference. So we head up, strip the beds – and it was lice, by the way, not bed bugs – clean the mattresses, change the sheets and the underlays and the duvets and the goddamn fucking pillows, green-spray the shit out the place, vacuum, the works. Then we get downstairs and these chicks come up to us and they're like 'hey, we're not going back up there, there's bugs' and started asking for a refund."

"But that's…" Deidara starts.

"So not my fucking problem, right?" Hidan continues. "So by this point it's half three and we're supposed to be finished and now – thanks to these people – we've got another fucking load of laundry to do, and I have to spend another ten minutes telling these idiots that I'm a fucking cleaner and that if they've still got a problem then they need to go to reception – which is right next to where they're fucking standing. Ugh. Like I actually want to know they've just made me waste my fucking time?"

"Where was Kakuzu?" Kisame asks.

"He took the dirty stuff straight to the laundry and loaded it up. If he hadn't there probably would have been a fucking murder charge, seriously." He yawns. "He's in the shower. You'll meet him later."

Itachi scratches at his arm. Drying sweat is making him feel itchy. He heads to his bunk to grab his shower things. "I didn't wake him up too, did I?" he asks. "I didn't notice anyone else in here."

"He was in with me," Hidan says. He eyes Itachi for a moment as if trying to measure him up. "And no, you didn't. He sleeps like the fucking dead." He points to the remaining lower bunk. "That's his official bed."

Itachi translates that as 'we're fucking, if you've got a problem with it you can fuck right off'. Itachi doesn't have a problem. His father probably would, but Uchiha Fugaku is a comfortable distance of half a world away.

"Okay," he says. It's the only answer he can think of. It certainly explains Hidan's sheet-curtains. He pulls himself up onto his bed and opens his pack, rifling through it for his travel towel and his shampoo.

He's not going to go into how hypocritical it would be of him to have a problem, when he'd spent half of his shift – once he'd got into the routine – staring at Kisame's impressive biceps. But it's nice to know that if something does happen, his new roommates won't be particularly hostile.

Then the door opens again, revealing a tall, muscular man with dark hair and scars all over every visible inch of skin. He's grumpy looking and built like a brick wall. Itachi can't imagine anyone surviving being hostile to him, so maybe it's just politeness out of survival instinct.

"Yo 'Kuzu," Hidan says. "We've got a newbie."

Kakuzu looks up at Itachi, still perched on his top bunk, and he laughs coldly. "You poor bastard," he says.

Itachi thinks it's the most appropriate greeting he's been given so far.


	3. Getting to Know You

1117

by Evandar

Part III: Getting to Know You

Itachi snaps awake. A sound like mechanical crows screaming fills the room and his bed rocks as Kisame shifts and rolls over beneath him. From the other side of the room there's a rustling noise and incomprehensible muttering. The noise shuts off. Itachi peeks over the rail of his bed to see Sasori sit up in his bunk. He can only see the other boy's shadow in what little light filters into the room under the door, but he's easily recognisable with his short, messy hair and his legs missing below the knee.

Wait, _what_?

Itachi can't help but stare as Sasori picks his lower legs up off the floor and reattaches them to the stumps where his legs had been. He lies down again when Sasori starts to stand. He doesn't want to be caught staring like some sort of idiot. He hadn't realised that Sasori was, well, was an amputee.

He listens as clothing rustles and the door clicks before sitting up again. Sasori is gone. He checks his phone. It's quarter to six in the morning. The part of his brain that isn't still boggling over the fact that Sasori _has no legs_ cringes in horror at the thought of being awake so early in the morning. He flops back in bed and covers his eyes with his forearm. Maybe he hallucinated the leg thing. He's never been good with mornings, especially after being jolted awake and Sasori's evil demon crows had certainly been a shock.

He feels Kisame shift again, groaning softly as he does so, and he realises that he's smiling. It'll be nice to have consistent roommates for a while. Waking up to a room full of strangers every day grew tiring after a while.

…

Itachi barely notices the free breakfast. He can't really taste any of it, and he thinks that might be a good thing judging from the expression on Deidara's face as he chews his toast. The other boy looks like he's torn between throwing up and starvation, which results in a desperate sort of grimace revealing itself between bites.

None of them speak, save for a boy with silver hair pulled into a ponytail, glasses, and a Fire Country accent that Itachi takes a second to recognise. He's been away for so long that he's half forgotten what the people at home sound like. "You're an Uchiha, aren't you?" is his conversation starter. "I'm Yakushi Kabuto. Nice to meet you."

"Itachi," he mutters after a while, neither confirming nor denying the guess at his family name. He likes being away from home and completely anonymous. He likes not being the Uchiha heir.

Kisame sits down opposite them, holding a tiny mug of coffee and a bowl of cereal. He stifles a yawn and, relieved of his burden, runs his fingers through his dark, blue-grey hair making it spike up more than usual. He mutters something that might have been a 'good morning'. Itachi murmurs a reply and averts his gaze. Kisame looks far, far too attractive for someone still half asleep.

"Look at you three," Kabuto says – he's horribly, horribly awake and Itachi wishes he would just shut up – "you're all so sleepy. What would Sasori say?"

Deidara glares at him. Itachi's surprised by the amount of hatred that he manages to put into it. He knows that morning people are annoying, but disliking them that much was a bit unreasonable. Then again, he can see himself becoming hostile if Kabuto ever brings up his connection to the Uchiha again.

"'Sori wouldn't give a shit," Kisame mumbles. He downs half of his coffee in one gulp and then eyes the remains of it. "These mugs are too small."

…

He's paired off with Deidara to work on the odd-numbered floors. They work from the top downwards. On the ninth floor, Deidara is moody and silent. On the seventh floor, he breaks his silence to teach Itachi how to make the beds in the girls-only dorms, which – inexplicably – have a completely different kind of duvet and require extra sheets because of it.

"The white makes it look more virginal, un," he says, tucking in the final sheet with practised ease. "Apparently. Something like that, anyway. Does anyone really care? It's just an extra pain in the ass, un." His tone doesn't exactly encourage conversation and Itachi remains silent. Minutes pass in silence until Deidara huffs.

"Kabuto's a dick, un," he says. "He always puts me in a bad mood. Sorry, un."

"What did he do?" It's probably not a good idea to ask, but he's curious.

"You're from Fire, right?" Deidara asks. Itachi nods and Deidara rolls his eyes. "He is to. I'm from Earth, un. First thing he did was bring up the fucking war, un."

Itachi winces. The war with Earth Country was brutal, bloody, and something his family prided themselves on being involved in. Itachi only really remembers it because it claimed the life of his cousin Obito, who had been – up to that point – his favourite relative and babysitter.

"It's nothing to gloat about," he says quietly. He picks up the dirty sheets from that room, bundling them into his arms while Deidara spritzes the place with a bright green spray that smells of…pleasantness. He can't really describe it in any other way, nor can he tell what it's supposed to smell of. Something vaguely fruity, he supposes.

Deidara glances at him and smiles thinly. "You lost someone."

"So did you," Itachi replies. It's a guess, but the way Deidara's eyes darken let him know he's hit home. "So is that why he doesn't stay in our room?"

"No, un, there's more than one housekeeping dorm. There's a girls', a couple of mixed…oh, and there's the dorms for the people who work in the bar downstairs, un." He glanced at Itachi from the corner of his eye. "None of us like him, un, so it's just as well. He keeps taking the piss out of Sasori, un. He shouldn't."

Itachi thinks back to that morning and the sight of Sasori putting on prosthetics and can only agree. Besides, Deidara seems like the kind of person who would have an explosive temper, and he wouldn't want to see Kakuzu provoked either. Something about the guy just creeps Itachi out.

They finish the seventh floor without drama and make their way down to the fifth. They only have six beds on that floor, so Itachi is optimistic. They're almost done.

Then they open the door to five-oh-one and he gags. He knows, now, what trench foot smells like. He can't say that it's something he's ever _wanted _to know, but the universe has gifted him with the knowledge regardless of his personal opinion. The air is filled with the stench of wet, rotten feet. Opening the door to it is like walking into a wall. Next to him, Deidara coughs.

"Fuck me," he gasps out.

The bright green spray materialises in Deidara's hand and he immediately starts squirting it. Everywhere. It dissipates the smell just enough for Itachi to be able to breath and he enters slowly, breathing through his mouth and pretending that he can't actually _taste_ it.

The stench belongs to a man passed out on a lower bunk. He's still fully clothed and his body is twisted awkwardly. If it wasn't for the occasional phlegm-filled snore, Itachi would have thought he was dead. Deidara looks at him, at Itachi, and at the spray in his hand. Then he comes to a decision and twists the top off the bottle, splashing the man liberally with the oddly scented liquid. The man doesn't stir.

"What is that stuff?" Itachi asks as Deidara screws the top back on.

"Green spray," Deidara says, shrugging slightly. Apparently he doesn't have any knowledge beyond that. "Your new best friend, un."

…

Their dorm is filled with chatter when they return after their shift. Deidara grins at Itachi as he passes him to enter first, and he bounds inside to sit next to Sasori on the red-head's bunk. Hidan is sprawled out on his bed, using Kakuzu as some sort of mattress. Kakuzu's fingers kneaded at the skin of Hidan's lower back. It looked slightly painful, but Hidan didn't seem to mind.

"Trench foot," Itachi announces and heads to his bed and his shower things. He foresees a great deal of showers in his future if this continues. He's sweaty and uncomfortable again.

"It was gross, un," Deidara confirms. "We had to pour green spray on the guy before we could breathe, un." He laughs suddenly, bright and cheery and at complete odds to his mood all morning. Itachi turns to stare at him in disbelief only to realise that Deidara is breathtaking when he laughs. He's also not the only one who's noticed it – Sasori has as well, and he can't seem to tear his eyes away.

"Itachi's been broken in, un," Deidara says, explaining the laughter. His eyes are sparkling with mirth and there's a light flush developing on Sasori's cheeks.

Itachi grins.


	4. Dialect

**AN: **As I mentioned in the footnote for the first chapter, I can't really picture all of the seperate countries in the Narutoverse having the same language when they're all so different and spread out. Instead, I kind of imagine it being a bit like China - one written language, which can be understood everywhere, but several smaller dialects that are practically incomprehensible to one another, and a sort of universal dialect that is used when people from more than one group come together. So Fire dialect would be a bit like Mandarin Chinese, for example.

* * *

><p><span>1117<span>

By Evandar

Part IV: Dialect

Sasori is sitting on the stairs outside of their dorm when they return from their shift. There're only two of them, raising the room only by a couple of feet, but they're a good spot to perch and eat. Sasori's not eating, though; he's cradling a mobile phone to his ear and looking faintly irritated with whoever's on the other end.

He snags Deidara's pants as they pass. "Don't shut the door," he says, before switching to a different – completely unrecognisable – dialect with more consonants than can possibly be necessary.

"Sure, un."

It 's strange to hear one of the others speaking their native dialect. They usually speak in Fire dialect since that's the one most commonly used throughout the continent, and even though Itachi knows that he is the only one in the room who's actually from Fire, it's still a strange thing to actually hear it.

"What's with that face?" Kisame asks him.

"I was just wondering where everyone was from," he says. "I knew that Deidara was from Earth, but…"

"Water," Kisame says. "Sasori's from Wind. Kakuzu's from Waterfall, and I keep forgetting where Hidan's from. Some tiny place no one's ever heard of."

"Yuugakure, you dick," Hidan says. He's sat leaning against his bed, painting his toenails green – it's a shocking contrast against the pallor of his skin. "It's in Steam."

Itachi casts his mind back to geography lessons at school. Steam's an independent state rather unfortunately located between Wind and Earth, with a rocky and extremely volatile landscape – the geothermal energies that spill over from Earth's endless volcanoes have made it famous for its hotsprings but very little else. It had been something of a footnote in his textbook.

"My point exactly," Kisame says, and it strikes Itachi that he's probably the only person who _does_ read the footnotes in textbooks.

Hidan flips him off before starting in on another nail. The smell of the varnish is thick and tickles the back of Itachi's throat. He's glad Sasori insisted on leaving the door open – the air conditioning in the room is broken and the heat combined with the nail varnish and the atmosphere of the room in general isn't brilliant. As usual, he feels disgusting, but there's not much point in showering today. He's not going to waste his time when he'll just end up sweaty and gross just from being in his own room. It's not like he's going to go anywhere today.

He sits on the floor with his legs folded under him and watches Hidan. He shifts slightly as Kisame settles next to him, and shoots the other boy a smile. Deidara has settled himself on the edge of Sasori's bed and taken his hair down from its ponytail. He brushes his hair out with infinite care and patience – there's so much of it.

Outside the door, Sasori's voice raises and then drops suddenly though Itachi can still hear him muttering. He sounds angry. Part of Itachi wants to know what he's saying, because Sasori's usually so stoic that he could put Itachi's father to shame.

"Na, Itachi? What made you come travelling?"

It's Deidara who asks. He's still occupied with his hair, but his brilliant blue eyes peer out at him from under his long bangs.

The question makes Itachi's stomach flip. As much as he gets on with everyone here, there are things he isn't sure they should know. "I just wanted to get out of Konoha," he says. "It's like everyone there thinks it's the centre of the universe. I was sick of it." He couldn't have stayed even if he'd wanted to, not with his relationship with his family the way it was. "Why did you?"

"I couldn't get a job, un," Deidara finishes brushing his hair and separates it into three sections. He starts to weave it into a braid as he speaks. "No one would hire me, so I left, un."

"I just left because Yuugakure's a hick town no one's ever fucking heard of."

"Surprise," Kisame mutters. Hidan flips him off again. Kisame grins, flashing sharp white teeth. Itachi was surprised the first time he saw them, and even now he's curious as to _how_ they ended up like that, but he's used to it. He also doesn't want to offend Kisame in any way. Besides, pointy teeth suit him somehow.

"What about you?" he asks.

"I came here for a kenjutsu tournament," Kisame says. "I liked it, so I applied for a visa and came back. It's pretty easy, when you're from Water."

"That's 'cause you're neutral, un," Deidara says. "I got one for Cloud because they're allied with Earth, but if I'd tried for Fire? No way, un. Or for any of their, uh, their…" he says something in what Itachi can only assume is his native tongue. It's a lot more flowing than Fire dialect and the Wind one that Sasori is using to snarl at someone in. It sounds like it would echo well in mountains. "You know, un, the other countries. Like Waterfall."

"Oh," Itachi says. "Territories."

"Those, un. I couldn't get in if I tried. Wind would be tricky too, un, but not impossible."

He glances towards the door and the direction of Sasori's voice.

Itachi hides a smirk and resolutely doesn't comment on their mutual crushing. From the corner of his eye, he sees Hidan do the same. "I doubt I'd get into Earth," he says instead.

Deidara bares his teeth on what might be either a smile or a grimace. "I doubt you'd want to, un."

"I can go anywhere," Hidan says. He caps his nail varnish and stretches his legs out, flexing his toes. His skin on his feet is so pale and thin that Itachi can see his veins clearly and, if he looks a bit closer, his tendons shifting as he moves. "Neutrality fucking rocks. 'Kuzu would have problems with Earth too, mind. Being from a _territory_."

Itachi knows that Waterfall wants independence. It's become something of a political bugbear over the last few years, but the truth of the matter is that their economy relies almost entirely on Fire's, and that their new laws have to be reviewed by the central government in Konoha before they can be passed.

He can remember his father's indignation every time it was brought up in the newspapers. He would scoff and slap the paper down on the table and preach about ungrateful foreigners until Itachi's mother would soothe his temper with 'yes dear's and a refill of his tea or more grilled mackerel. Uchiha Fugaku is very firmly of the opinion that Waterfall would completely collapse without Fire's rule. Uchiha Fugaku has opinions on a lot of things but Itachi learned long ago that that doesn't necessarily mean he's right.

"Where is Kakuzu, anyway?" Kisame asks.

"Job interview. Some shit like maternity cover in an office." Hidan stretches his arms above his head. His T-Shirt rides up revealing chalky skin marred by a hickey – complete with teeth marks – on one hip. "And since we're not going anywhere for a while…"

"You're just going to stay here?" Itachi asks. He can't think of anything more abhorrent than living in this hostel for an extended period of time. While he likes the company, the place itself is…barely habitable. The snob in him can't stand the showers that turn off every three seconds and that don't have adjustable temperatures – it's a lottery whether you end up blistered or with hypothermia every time you wash your hair – or the lack of privacy, or the special circle of hell that is the kitchen.

"We've already travelled round Cloud. We're saving for visas and transport to Water." He flashes Kisame a grin. "Neither of us really want to go home yet, so why the fuck not?"

Sasori chooses that moment to stalk into the room. He wrinkles his nose at the smell of nail varnish and dried sweat and leaves the door open. His phone is tossed unceremoniously onto his bed and he sits next to Deidara. "Fuck going home," he says, obviously having caught some of their conversation. "I'm emigrating. Somewhere. Anywhere that isn't Suna."

"Even Iwa?" Deidara teases, though Itachi suspects that a part of him is serious. Although there doesn't seem to be any love lost between Deidara and his country, Itachi supposes they're a little alike in that regard – that no matter how much they hate their homes, they're still home.

Sasori reddens. His blush clashes with his hair. "Why not?" he murmurs and bites his lip as if he didn't mean to say it out loud.

Kisame mutters something coarse and low and guttural and even though Itachi doesn't understand it, it sends shivers down his spine. He glances over at the other boy – Kisame is running his fingers through his hair and looks like he's just caught on to the sexual tension running between Sasori and Deidara. _It's about time, _Itachi thinks, _they're only as subtle as a punch in the face_.

Kisame catches his eye and raises an eyebrow, as if to ask if he'd noticed this before. Itachi laughs at him quietly but can't quite stop himself from blushing at the intensity of Kisame's expression.

Hidan snorts. "Subtle," he mutters.


	5. Laundry

1117

Part V: Laundry

by Evandar

It's finally happened. He's run out of pants. A thorough and increasingly panicked rummage through his backpack has revealed a distinct lack of clean underwear. His dirty clothes are all in a bag in the locker under his bunk bed - there's two; one for him and another for Kisame – and the bag's beginning to overflow. Just a little.

"How much is the laundry?" he asks the room in general. He can't quite hide the note of fear in his voice. His first night in the hostel and a few groceries have drastically cut into his remaining funds and as much as he tries not to think about The Money Situation, it's becoming a thing of nightmares.

"Four dollars for the wash," Kisame tells him, leaning over the side of his bed to peer at Itachi . Itachi blushes and tries to ignore him. He does not want to be studied while he's sitting on the floor, surrounded by his few possessions, wearing only a pair of boxers and the T-Shirt he sleeps in. "And two dollars for forty minutes in one of the fucking useless dryers."

Six dollars would feed him for a day.

The slowly shrinking part of him that is still used to the Uchiha standards of living howls in rage. The rest of him just shrinks in on himself, wishing that he really didn't have to worry about this. "Oh."

"You can always just do it in the laundry room later," Hidan speaks up. "It's the industrial machine, though, so your stuff'll shrink and smell of tea towels, but it's free."

"We can do that?" Itachi asks. The word 'free' gives him an unreasonable amount of pleasure.

"Sure, when 'Kuzu and I are working," he says. "We're unsupervised."

Having received a good measure of Hidan's personality over the past week or so, Itachi can't quite believe that someone would ever let Hidan roam around the hostel, with the master key, unsupervised. Kakuzu, maybe. He doesn't seem to have a sense of humour at all – or, at least, it's never shown itself in Itachi's presence. But Hidan is nothing short of batshit insane. That he has even a modicum of responsibility is potentially catastrophic.

He struggles to keep a straight face.

"We're not supposed to do it," Hidan continues – either not noticing or ignoring Itachi's struggle for decorum - "but what the fuck. Like we're going to spend money on the shitty public washing machines when we can do it for free."

"Didn't realise you cared that much, un," Deidara pipes up.

"I don't, but 'Kuzu's in love with the budget, seriously."

"What time do I bring it up?" Itachi asks, before the conversation can stray too much from its original topic. He wants free laundry. Smelling like tea towels is a far more acceptable price than six dollars.

His inner Uchiha is completely disbelieving of that fact, but it's not the one with a two-digit bank balance.

"Eleven's usually a good time," Hidan says. "We're usually on break by that point." He pauses, tilting his head to the side to consider it. "Most nights. It's before the kitchen cluster-fuck, anyway."

Itachi nods. He's not entirely sure what the nightshift entails beyond Hidan being rude to customers and the kitchen being cleaned, but he supposes they have to do other things to fill the eight hours. Nodding is his failsafe when he wants to ask potentially idiotic questions.

…

At eleven, he finds Hidan and Kakuzu in the laundry room, sitting on the workbench. Well, Kakuzu is sitting. Hidan is sprawled out with his head in Kakuzu's lap, apparently not caring that his forehead is being used as a desk – Kakuzu is doing a crossword. They're both dressed entirely in black – combats and tank tops stained orange-red in places, presumably thanks to bleach. It's comforting to think that it's used somewhere in the hostel – and they radiate the kind of calm usually seen in elderly couples.

Or graveyards.

"Supporting the destruction of the church, twenty eight letters," Kakuzu says. The only sign that he's even seen Itachi is a slight nod in his vague direction. Kakuzu is probably the most antisocial person Itachi's ever met. Ever. And he's an _Uchiha_.

"Antidisestablishmentarianism," Hidan replies.

Itachi double takes. Hidan is probably the last person in the world he would expect to know what that meant. There's just something about him – Itachi's not sure what – that makes him think that he wasn't all that well educated. Hidan somehow catches the look from underneath the pages of the puzzle book – one apparently sourced from hell, if it has clues like that – and waggles his fingers in greeting.

"Machine's empty, so load her up," he says. "Then shut and lock the door, press forty and the power button, and you're good to go. Takes half an hour."

"Mouth instrument, seven letters."

"Ocarina."

Itachi can't help it. The domesticity is just too surreal. He wonders how long they must have been together to achieve the affect. "Is this what you do all night?"

"No," Kakuzu says. "Just most of it." He doesn't even bother to look up.

"We do errands for reception, finish the laundry, check the bathrooms have enough paper towels and toilet roll, clean the kitchen, vacuum the main area and take out the bins. That's all we really have to do – it just depends on reception and how much laundry the dayshifts leave for how long it takes."

"Distinct, nine letters, third letter 's'."

"Disparate."

Itachi loads the machine and follows Hidan's instructions. Nothing explodes. Instead, water begins to fill the machine and the drum starts to turn. "Half an hour?" he asks.

"Yes."

Itachi can always trust Kakuzu for the shorted possible answer. But, he thinks, at least he hasn't devolved into grunts and cursing like Sasuke. Kakuzu, at least, still has a grasp of language. "Is it okay if I leave it and come back later?"

"Sure," Hidan replies. "Go grab some noodles with Kisame or something."

Itachi feels himself turn red at the insinuation. There was definitely an insinuation in there. There had to be. Even if he's not sure where.

"Or just grab Kisame."

_There_ it is. Kakuzu snorts, and Itachi can just see the edges of an evil grin under the pages of the book.

"Maybe I will," he says, uttering quite possibly the lamest comeback in the history of forever. And damn his intellectual abilities for not stretching to social situations, anyway. The grin widens. "Oh fuck you," he grumbles.

Apparently _he_ has devolved into Sasuke. Ugh.

Kakuzu, rather unexpectedly, decides to save him with a softly uttered "first canonical hour, six letters" which transforms whatever Hidan had been about to say – the sadistic, psychotic prick – into "matins" and gives Itachi time to flee the room with his dignity still partly intact.

…

Half an hour later, he's faced with the monumental task of actually finding them. The door to the laundry is shut and locked and can only be opened by the master key. Not that knowing that stopped Itachi from tugging on it hopelessly a few times on the off chance that the universe would take pity on him.

He turns to Kisame and shrugs. It's already been proven that it's not his night for the spoken word, and the last thing he wants is to make himself look like even more of an idiot. It's bad enough that he's been reduced to blushing like a schoolgirl every time Kisame so much as looks at him. He focuses on the ridge of Kisame's collar bone rather than his face and resists the urge to nibble on it. "So how do we find them?" he asks.

"Follow the sound of maniacal laughter," Kisame says. (Itachi feels slightly relieved that he's not the only one with that impression of Hidan.) "Probably." He checks his watch. "Or we could just head to the kitchen. They should be starting to close it in fifteen minutes."

The kitchen is a place that – if he had a choice – Itachi would be happy to avoid. It's a large room with a red formica floor. Stainless steel work surfaces take up half of it, and mismatched tables and chairs in varying states of disrepair take up the rest. It smells of burnt food and pungent tea towels. The stove-tops are littered with dirty, used pans and miscellaneous pieces of food – mostly pasta or dried noodles – and the two huge fridges are full to bursting with blue cooler bags.

There's an old stereo on a shelf between one of the fridges and the units – over a table holding a grill and two microwaves (one of them broken) – playing classical music just loud enough to be annoying. The room is empty. Apparently Kou Nakagawa **1** is more than the average backpacker can stand. It strikes Itachi then that, since he knows the composer, he probably classifies as a bit weird for a backpacker.

Kisame gives a low whistle. He's peering into one of the sinks. It's piled high with dirty dishes, scummy, brownish water lapping at grease-encrusted pans. "I don't envy them this," he says.

"Sasori does."

It's Kakuzu. He looks utterly bored, but there's a faint spark of satisfaction in his eyes as he looks around the empty room. He could, Itachi thinks, almost be handsome if he didn't have such an aura of 'complete and utter evil bastard' around him.

"Busy night?" Kisame asks.

Kakuzu shrugs. "Someone was smoking weed on the sixth floor," he says. "Hidan's in the laundry."

Itachi takes that as a hint and makes for the door.

…

The laundry door is open and welcoming, and Hidan is piling tea towels and cleaning rags into a basket apprehended from the local supermarket. The master key hangs on a yellow strap around his neck, bouncing off his sternum as he moves. There's a bleach stain shaped suspiciously like a handprint on his ass.

"Can I use the dryer?" Itachi asks, and tries desperately not to smirk when Hidan jumps. Revenge is sweet.

"Eh, sure." Hidan replies. He waves a hand in the dryer's direction.

There's an awkward silence. Itachi searches for a topic that won't lead to uncomfortable comments on his attraction to Kisame. Again. The last thing he wants is for Kisame to catch on, and he will if Hidan keeps rubbing it in his face. "Weed on the sixth floor?" he asks.

Hidan grunts. "We green-sprayed the shit out of it." He glances over at Itachi and grins. "Have you read the warnings on that stuff? You're not supposed to inhale it. I mean, it's fucking _air freshener_."

"Air freshener?"

He knows it's a stupid question. The only thing that stuff seems to do is to smell mildly more pleasant than BO and unwashed socks, but in a completely indescribable way. Ordinarily he would have immediately realised it was air freshener, except for the fact that…

"We clean floors with air freshener?"

"Yep."

Itachi swears then and there never to go into the bathroom with bare feet ever again. Hidan pats him consolingly on the shoulder. "Cheer up. You haven't got cholera yet."

There's something in his tone of voice that implies it's only a matter of time.

"Thanks for that."

The dryer seems to work on fuzzy logic and a few strategically placed kicks, but soon enough it's spinning his clothes around at a temperature practically guaranteed to make them shrink a size. There's a faint orange glow escaping from cracks in the plastic casing. He tries not to think about it. Free laundry is a good thing, no matter how dangerous the machinery makes it look.

…

Hidan heads straight to the radio on his return to the kitchen, ditching his basket on top of the bins, next to a stack of pizza boxes. He fiddles with buttons and knobs for a moment, and then the kitchen is filled with the sound of rock music – someone growling along to a guitar in what sounds like Lightning dialect. Somehow, it doesn't surprise him that Hidan likes that sort of thing.

Kakuzu is up to his elbows in hot, soapy water, making a start on the mammoth task of washing the dishes. There's another half an hour until Itachi can grab his things, and he feels slightly awkward watching them clean – Hidan has moved onto clearing tables of leaflets, tea towels, dishes and leftover remains of food. He never really used to mind at home. He was too used to drinking his morning tea while his mother wiped down benches and packed lunches, watching her as she happily prepared food for her family.

Now it just feels wrong, and homesickness twists inside his ribcage. He realises that he can barely remember what she looks like.

"Want some help?" he asks. Kisame looks at him like he's insane. Itachi ignores him.

"No."

"It's cool. You don't have to." There's a pause and a look from across the room, and Itachi silently damns himself for constantly underestimating Hidan's intelligence. "But if you really want to then you can fill a pan with soapy water, grab a scourer and a rag and bring 'em over here."

Itachi obeys mechanically.

"Thanks," he says, placing the pot on the table next to Hidan.

"I wash; you dry," is the only response other than a look that's far more perceptive than it should be.

…

"How did you and Kakuzu get together?" he asks, folding his now dry and snugly warm laundry and placing it neatly back into the bag he'd brought it up in.

Hidan, who's tossing tea towels into the washing machine, doesn't look at him. "Met at university. Exchange trip."

Itachi practically bites his tongue off trying to stop himself from asking 'you went to university?' and looking like a dick. He really has to stop making assumptions about people based on his dubious estimations of their sanity. "What did you study?" he asks instead.

"'Kuzu did accounting," Hidan says. "I did divinity."

Itachi makes some sort of inarticulate noise low in his throat. He tries to stop it, and ends up sounding like he's choking on a mouse.

Hidan looks at him over his shoulder and grins. "I get that a lot," he says. "Apparently 'ordained priest' isn't exactly the impression I give people."

Itachi's face – quite against his will – twists into an expression of absolute disbelief.

"My point exactly," Hidan says with a nod, and turns back to his rags. The pause in conversation gives Itachi a moment to get his face back under control and his thoughts in some semblance of order.

Hidan, despite looking and acting like a hedonistic pretty-boy with no self-control and fewer scruples, is a priest.

_What religion is this? _and_ Was it started on the internet?_ are the two main questions running through his mind. The first one is harmless enough to ask.

"Jashinism."

AKA 'a death cult most commonly known for ritual self-sacrifice' according to one of Itachi's high school text books. Hidan looks awfully alive for one of its practitioners.

"So anyway, he came to Yuugakure on an exchange programme and I got to bug the shit out of him until he tried to kill me. We've been together ever since. It's been about three, four years now."

"You count murder attempts as romantic?" Itachi asks. He can't quite believe that he's become so detached from the real world that he's even having this conversation. But then, the real world had never quite been this darkly fascinating.

Hidan snorts. "Since he gave up and started making out with me half way through? Sure. Why the fuck not? At least we started out with a reasonable estimation of each others' personalities. 'Kuzu's a possessive, selfish bastard with a bad temper and a money fetish, and I'm a masochist with the self-preservation skills of a lemming on a motorway."

Itachi stares. "Oh," he says faintly. "Good to know." He places his last T-Shirt into his bag just as Hidan shuts the washing machine door.

Hidan offers him a grin that, under the circumstances, isn't in the slightest bit reassuring. "Look at it this way, if you start off knowing the absolute worst about someone, you can only ever be pleasantly surprised by them."

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong> Kou Nakagawa is the composer of the _Geisha vs Ninja_ soundtrack.


End file.
